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All wrong sensations, Diego reminded himself. After his wife’s betrayal he had vowed never to let another beautiful face fool him.
Not to mention that Ramona was mortal, and developing any feelings for her would only lead to pain. He couldn’t deal with that right now. He had barely recovered from the grief of Esperanza’s passing, the woman to whom he had been faithful for five hundred years.
Searching through the schedule once more, he realized there were no openings for at least another two months.
Recalling Ramona’s face that morning, he knew she couldn’t wait.
He picked up the phone and dialed. As the man answered, he said, “Julio, I’ve got a favor to ask…”
Ramona couldn’t believe her luck. A last-minute problem with another painter had allowed Diego to schedule her showing in a little over a week.
She slept well that night for the first time in months, which left her feeling so refreshed, she decided to give herself a treat. She would go to the auction house for a final viewing of the masterpieces Mr. van Winter was selling off.
She applauded his generosity in donating the funds raised from the sale to the charitable organization his family had founded so many centuries earlier. The van Winter Foundation aided many different causes. In fact, part of her college scholarship had come from a small donation the foundation had made to her art school.
It must have been a difficult decision to donate such amazing works of art. Despite that, Ramona had been slightly troubled by the reclusive millionaire’s desire to have copies of the famous works.
She didn’t know how he had gotten her name. She only knew that she had been recommended to him as someone with the skills to create worthy imitations of the masterpieces. Despite her misgivings, the money he had offered was more than she could turn down, given her current situation.
She had accepted the job and spent nearly six months painfully and painstakingly recreating the works of the masters.
It had been inspiring to be in the company of such genius. Maybe that was why her latest paintings were so amazing. So filled with passion and yearning.
Or maybe it was something inside of her, calling her to lay her heart on the canvas so that when she passed, someone might know that she had existed. That she had been filled with love, but hadn’t found anyone to share it with.
Unless Diego—
Before she let that thought go where it shouldn’t, she showered, dressed and headed to the auction house for a last glimpse of the paintings. She didn’t regret paying the money to enter the exhibit and see them, only…
Dios mio, this couldn’t be right, she thought as she stared at the works on display for the world to see. Three supposed masterpieces, but the longer she stared at them, the more it became obvious that it was her brushstrokes on the canvases. As careful as she had been to recreate those of the masters, an artist always recognized her own work.
Maybe it was a mistake, she thought as she went from painting to painting and carefully examined them for any trace that would tell her they hadn’t been done by Ramona Escobar, a mutt of dubious origins with no claim to fame in the art world.
But as she lingered before each painting, scrutinizing every line, loitering over each shadow and color, she realized this was her work being shown. These were her copies and not the originals. And each had been signed with the name of the original artist—something she had not done because of her niggling doubt. In her mind, and possibly that of others, signing them might seem as if she intended to pass them off as the originals.
She hadn’t realized how long she had stood there until one of the guards from the auction house came up to her.
“Miss, are you okay? You look a little pale.”
Ramona’s stomach roiled with anxiety. She placed a hand there to quell its nervous motion.
“Thank you. I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed by their beauty,” she said, and glanced at her watch, finally realizing that she had been there for several hours.
The old man smiled at her and nodded. “They are amazing, aren’t they? Mr. van Winter was so kind to donate them to his foundation.”
“Yes, very kind,” she said, although in her heart she was beginning to question his generosity and intent.
Or maybe she was wrong in being a doubting Thomas. Maybe the copies were on display to protect the originals. Gazing at the old man and at the other guard at the door, she realized that security measures seemed to be minimal in this area.
That must be the reason, she told herself, but the little voice in her head wouldn’t be silenced.
And maybe pigs can fly.
She had no other choice but to attend tomorrow’s sale and see for herself which paintings were placed on the auction block.
Diego wanted a last look at the masterpieces. It had been nearly a century since he had seen the Manet.
He had wanted to attend the public exhibition the day before, but Simon, his keeper, had been feeling unwell. Much like Diego, Simon had never really recovered from losing Esperanza, or from the events leading up to her death.
Simon had been caring for Diego and Esperanza, tending to their vampire needs, for nearly a century now, his human life prolonged by the special bite Diego could bestow.
But now the old man said he was tired, and refused to accept the bite that would prolong his life.
Diego understood. Simon wanted to let his life run its natural course. He was ready for what awaited him on the other side.
Diego would honor Simon’s unspoken request and the vow he himself had made centuries earlier not to turn another human. After saving Esperanza by turning her, he had dealt with her grief as she witnessed the death of all their loved ones. He had seen her longing every time a mother passed by with a baby in her arms, something Esperanza would never experience.
Her grief and despair had altered her. Although he’d still loved her, he had recognized how needy she had become of him, the one constant in her life. That neediness had made her jealous and petty at times, dependent to the point of almost smothering his love for her.
It had almost kept him from making Simon his keeper, only Simon had begged for life after they had found him in the ruins of his home following the San Francisco earthquake. The keeper’s kiss Diego had bestowed had healed some of Simon’s injuries and kept him alive to search for his family in the rubble. He had found them a day later—dead beneath the remains of their home.
As Diego had helped Simon bury them, he had seen grief like Esperanza’s in the man’s eyes. It had only made Diego regret making him a keeper, and had reinforced his decision never to use his vampire’s kiss again.
He shook off the unpleasant thoughts, comforted by the fact that he had left Simon ensconced in his favorite chair, watching a History Channel special on the San Francisco earthquake, and muttering about his own survival.
Diego pushed through the door of the auction gallery, but stopped short as he collided with a woman in his haste to see the Manet. He reached out to keep her from falling.
“I’m sorry,” he began, but smiled when he recognized Ramona. “I didn’t expect you here, little one.”
Ramona gazed up at Diego, thinking he looked as elegant and polished as ever. He had grabbed her arms to steady her, and she in turn had placed her hand on the sleeve of his overcoat. The expensive cashmere felt smooth against her fingers, in sharp contrast to the itchy wool of her own peacoat.
She pulled away from him, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket, both to keep from touching him again and because the chill of the late fall night had bitten into her body.
“I came to see the auction, too,” she explained, walking toward a row with two empty chairs. But then she stopped short. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you were here alone, but if you’re with—”
“I’m with you,” he said with a smile, and confirmed her choice of seating.
Ramona told herself he was just being kind, much as he always was, but it was tough not to imagine how it might be if it were different. If he saw her not as an eccentric, reclusive painter always living on the edge, but as an attractive woman.
Although how could he? she wondered, gazing down at the coat that was a bit too big on her, thanks to all the weight she had recently lost. Even before her illness, his actions had been nothing other than brotherly. She’d always admired his faithfulness to the woman in his life.
When she sat, he paused to remove his overcoat, and revealed yet another fine silk suit and shirt. The top two buttons of the shirt were open, exposing the curly, light brown hairs on his chest. She wondered whether that hair would be crisp beneath her fingers.
“Ramona?” Diego said, and she realized that he had asked her a question.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Do you want to take your coat off?”
Cold lingered in her body from the autumn night, so she shook her head. “Not just yet.”
He sat beside her, his size and strength striking her again, but she had little time to think about him as the auctioneer came to the podium.
She leaned forward, eagerly watching as a covered painting was brought in and placed on the easel. A hush fell over the room, replaced by murmurs when the painting was unveiled and the auctioneer named the opening price. Fifteen million dollars.
She held her breath, examining the painting from afar. She told herself it must be the original, but once again her artist’s eye could pick out the differences. Why hadn’t anyone at the auction house seen that this wasn’t the authentic masterpiece? Why didn’t any of the prospective buyers realize it?
As the bidding for the painting climbed ever higher, she shifted closer and closer to the edge of the chair, her arms wrapped tight around her to ward off the frost filling her body. When the bidding ended at thirty million, she gasped, shocked by both the price and the fact that it seemed as if van Winter was going to get away with his deception.
Diego’s hand lit on her back, and she glanced over her shoulder and met his concerned gaze.
“Estas bien?” he asked, rubbing his hand against her shoulder in a soothing gesture.
“I’m fine. I just can’t imagine…” She wanted to say that she couldn’t believe that no one had realized the fraud, not even Diego, who was usually so astute.
“It is a lot, but one day you may command similar prices.”
“Sure. When I’m dead,” she muttered, and Diego chuckled, not realizing the irony behind her statement.
“Do not worry, little one. Your day will come.”
She forced a smile and fixed her attention back up at the front of the room. As had happened for the first painting, the next two were sold swiftly.
All three of her paintings fetched a grand total of nearly one hundred and twenty million dollars. She wanted to stand up and shout to everyone that they had been deceived, but who would believe her?
This was one of the city’s better known auction houses, selling off paintings for one of the world’s richest men, and she was no one.
Merely the struggling unknown who had unwittingly helped him carry out the deception.
A sick feeling twisted her gut, and the chill that hadn’t left her all night made her numb inside, weak, she realized as she tried to stand, and found that her legs were a little wobbly. The anxiety and the late hour had taken their toll on her.
“Ramona?” Diego questioned, but she couldn’t answer as spots began to dance before her eyes.
She had pushed herself way too much, she realized as Diego slipped his arm around her waist, providing stability.
“Let me get you home,” he said, and she didn’t argue, lacking the strength to make the trip on her own.
Besides, she needed to conserve her strength for what would be a tough road ahead—proving that van Winter had sold forgeries, and even more importantly, clearing her name of any involvement in the crime.
Chapter 2
So maybe he was wrong to be taking advantage of the fact that she was feeling unwell, Diego thought. But it was the first opportunity to be close to her since Esperanza’s death. He had noticed Ramona well before that, but being an honorable man, unlike he had been in his human life, he had banked his attraction to her.
Even now a part of him said this wasn’t right. She was human and he was undead. He could offer nothing, but he couldn’t deny that he liked the weight of her in his arms as he held her on his lap the entire cab ride home.
She murmured a protest when they arrived at her loft and he insisted on carrying her upstairs. With his vampire powers, he barely registered her weight. Actually, even with just his human strength he could have easily managed. She was so petite. Thinner than she had been a few months ago, he belatedly realized.
It brought out protective feelings in him that should have sent up major warning bells. The last woman he had felt this way toward was Esperanza, and look how that had ended. With death both times.
But that didn’t stop him from depositing Ramona on the sofa in the living area of the large loft, and getting her settled. Despite her continued reassurances that she was fine, he insisted she rest while he prepared some tea, since he noticed yet again that her hands were ice cold.
Way too cold, combined with way too pale…
Diego opened up his vampire senses, but found Ramona’s energy to be totally human and a little frail. The hunter in him recognized she was easy prey, but he tamped down such a thought.
He hadn’t fed from an unwilling human for quite some time. He wasn’t about to begin now.
Although the look that she gave him as he approached with the tea hinted that Ramona might not be so unwilling.
Handing her the mug with the honey-laced concoction, he sat on the coffee table before her.
“Gracias, Diego. You didn’t have to do this.” She cradled the cup with her long fingers, her actions graceful as she brought it to her full lips and took a delicate sip.
Desire rose in him again, much as it had the other day. Intent on fighting it, he said, “I need to take care of my investment, don’t I?”
A crushed look swept across her features before she contained her emotions. “Of course. I understand how expensive it is for you to show—”
“Your masterpieces,” he said, and because he couldn’t sit there any longer, staring at her wounded, doe-brown eyes, he rose and stalked across the loft to her work area.
As he had two days earlier, he stood before her paintings, admiring the sweep of her brush as it almost made love to the figures she had placed on the canvas. The movement of the brushstrokes was so alive, he found himself laying his fingertips against the image on the canvas as if to prove to himself that they weren’t real.
Ramona wondered what he was doing as he stood there, scrutinizing her artwork once more. When he raised his hand and touched the canvas, she had to go see what had drawn him. She set the mug on the table and joined him.
When he ran his fingertips along the line of the woman’s hip in the painting, tracing the slender sweep of her waist, Ramona imagined his hand against her own body. Imagined how it would be for him to touch her the way he caressed the woman on the canvas—the woman she had imagined herself to be, lost in the throes of a lover’s embrace.
As he shifted his hand upward, over the shadow beneath the woman’s breast, she felt his energy beside her. Sensed his growing desire and her own.
When he looked at her, his ice-blue eyes blazed with fire. “Did you feel this way as you painted?”
She had felt that way and more. But she couldn’t confess that with each stroke of the brush, she had imagined it was them together.
“No,” she said.
But he faced her and, laying a hand at her waist, murmured “Liar.”
He bent from his larger height, but she was already meeting him halfway, wanting to experience him if only for this one moment. A moment that had sprung from nowhere, but was not to be missed.
His lips were a bit cold, but wonderfully soft on hers. They sampled the edges of her mouth as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
The body she had admired from afar was much like she had imagined. Big. Strong. Firm.
He was hard beneath her hands as she grabbed hold of his shoulders. Hard against the flatness of her belly as he swept his arm beneath her buttocks and drew her to him.
She moaned at the thought of that hardness within her. Of his big body urging her downward into the softness of the bed that was just at the other side of the loft.
Her whimper of need jolted Diego from the enjoyment of her response.
As right as she felt in his arms, this was wrong, he thought, and slowly eased away from her.
